


attrition

by nayvee



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ALSO TRUE, Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Deity Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Deity Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, HE DOES IT'S TRUE, I'm not a Dream apologist I swear, TommyInnit Needs a Break (Video Blogging RPF), because rivalstwt is superior, because that's hot, biblical parallels but they're fucked up, dream apologists rise, i just love the dreamon theory, i'm not one of y'all but come get y'all juice, in my canon ranboo is a demigod thank u, they are the godly trio, this is almost completely an internal monologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayvee/pseuds/nayvee
Summary: attrition (n.) -  gradually reducing the strength of someone or something through sustained attack or pressure.It’s been a week since Dream lost control. A week since that frustrated scuffle turned into the first time he’d used his godly powers in years. Add “child murder” to his list of sins, with no one to repent to but himself.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 70





	attrition

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: death, blood (not graphic), cursing, suicidal thoughts, demonic possession (dreamon)
> 
> i started this before tommy came back and didn't want to scrap it so shhhh pretend he's dead

It’s been a week since Dream lost control. A week since that frustrated scuffle turned into the first time he’d used his godly powers in years. Add “child murder” to his list of sins, with no one to repent to but himself. 

He couldn’t bear to move Tommy at first, not wanting to face what he’d done, but when it began to stink he had to do something. So he folded the boy’s arms over his chest, closed those piercing blue eyes, and washed unimaginable amounts of blood out from red-stained golden hair. Between dehydration and it, there was no chance of Dream crying, though he should have. Would have, if he could. 

He walked into the lava carrying Tommy’s body. Respawning was painful, but he deserved it. During the respawn, during those sought-after first moments when it couldn’t reach him, a single tear ran down his face. Alone, just like he was now. In his battle to destroy emotional attachment, he’d become attached to the embodiment of what he fought against: a stupid sixteen-year-old kid that cared too much about too many things. 

The first thing he did after respawning was scream. He screamed into the bloodstained black floor until his throat was raw and thrust a palmful of water into the lava to make a rock that he could throw in the absence of his clock. He took his anger out on the purple-hued walls, scarred hands chucking the misshapen stone over and over with all his might. The floor became dusted in rock shards, mere cobblestone doing nothing but crumbling against unyielding obsidian.

On the fourth day he finally drank water. He didn’t want to; he’d rather shrivel up and die of dehydration in the same place as Tommy, but it made him. Can’t lose the best host it’s had in centuries, right? 

Dream was the stone, and it was the obsidian. Every time he tried to break control it only hurt him, chipping away at the pieces of who he was while it remained. He’d thought it was over so many times, tried to end it so many times, but damn if that thing wasn’t strong. Selfishly, he wondered why it had chosen him instead of Technoblade. It wanted a god for a host, and Techno was an older and stronger god than Dream. A better one, too. Maybe that was exactly why it hadn’t chosen him: Dream was weaker. Not weak, because he’s managed to keep it away from the part of his mind that controls this world, but just weak enough that he couldn’t fight it, only defend. It was a war of attrition between god and demon, and the demon was winning.

But the day had come. It finally had a grip on some level of his powers, yet the first thing it did was kill Tommy and that scared him. It knew the things that gave him strength and got rid of them. Over and over: first cutting off his friends, then suppressing memories of Spirit, and now constantly throwing his clock in the lava, keeping him from talking to Sapnap, and killing the one person that kept him from being lonely. 

Though his control was nearly nonexistent within the layers of obsidian, he could feel the energy of his world. He felt the presence of that egg like it was internal bleeding; a painful trickle that ran its way through the veins of his home. He felt the separate nucleus of power that was Technoblade, far away and blissfully unaware. Dream would know when Techno found out about his brother; in fact, the whole world probably would. Anyone with even an ounce of magical awareness could feel an angry Nether god. 

There was one smaller source of energy that was pure chaos. Ranboo, in his enderwalking confusion, poor kid. Under the same burden as Dream but against his will. He hadn’t asked for this mantle, hadn’t gone through the rigorous trials and rituals to host that level of power, instead it was thrust upon him at birth. An ender demigod, descended from the ender dragon herself, the End was locked for his own safety. Like Dream’s powers in the Overworld and Techno’s in the Nether, Ranboo in the End would be a conduit of the realm’s energy, likely killing his half-human body with its strength. 

How ironic, that of the four most powerful beings in this world, three wanted the fourth dead. 

It all hit him on the fifth day. How truly alone he was, that no one cared and it was his fault. If only he hadn’t been so stupid, been satisfied enough with the power of a god, been smart enough to turn around when that harsh voice whispered “you could be more, you could be everything.” He’d handed his world to the demon on a silver platter and it was finally eating. 

He spent that day walking into the lava, over and over, just for those few seconds of freedom during the respawn. The scars across his tanned skin doubled and tripled and sent fire all the way down to his bones, but he didn’t stop. Those seconds of emotional freedom were crushingly liberating: tears flowing freely, pain fully felt, and the guilt overriding his brain. Every time it lasted a little longer--a few more tears fell, a few more regrets flew through his mind--and it was addicting. 

On the sixth day, Dream rested. Not of his own volition; he was locked inside his own body laying crumpled on the floor, forced into submission by it. His mind and heart raced, straining to move even one muscle toward the food chest, the water, anything, but he couldn’t. It didn’t want him to hurt himself again. How thoughtful. 

The war was lost on the seventh day. Dream retreated into the furthest corner of his mind with his earliest memories of the world, before he was a god and a demon fighting over one body. Long-forgotten sunlight on his skin, grass rustling in the wind, eight figures swimming in a glassy lake, the snap of a fishing line. All the little things he let slip right between his fingers. 

He’d lost long ago. An effort to become everything had cost him everything.

**Author's Note:**

> i know the ending is abrupt but i wanted to get this out before canon changes AGAIN
> 
> let me know if i should add the graphic violence warning, i honestly couldn't decide whether or not to.   
> leave kudos if you enjoyed!!


End file.
